


Forwards, or Better

by Kaiosea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Community: hd_erised, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: How Harry failed to ask Draco out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anokaba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anokaba/gifts).



> Loosely based off anokaba’s prompt: _Harry pursues a hardworking, clueless Draco. After the war, Draco kept his head down and worked to gain respect for himself. Harry admires Draco’s dedication to his family and job, but so far all his attempts to flirt have failed miserably (Draco thinks he’s being antagonistic)._ anokaba, it was a pleasure writing for you!

“Potter. I’m not finished working yet.” 

Harry blinked at Draco, seemingly confused. 

For his benefit, Draco added, “So like I told you last week, no, I can’t join you at your measly pub.” It wasn’t a lie; Draco was always the last of his office to leave every day, and he wasn’t inclined to break that habit for Potter, who’d recently been assigned temporarily to the same area. Privately, Draco thought that Harry was probably too used to hearing “yes” in answer to all his questions. 

“Next time,” Harry said with a smile that was entirely too doleful, confirming Draco's suspicions.

Draco told himself there wouldn’t be a next time, but Harry had already shuffled backwards out the door. 

 

As the Head of Potion-Based Healing Aid, a small yet highly effective sub-committee in a sub-department of the Ministry, Draco had grown accustomed to routine. He'd begun at the very bottom of the hierarchy eight years ago and slowly worked his way up from minimum wages to where he stood today. 

Nothing had been easy. If there had been one thing to learn, it was the art of holding his tongue. There had been suspicion circling around him that still followed his name; that said, it was entirely for family rehabilitation that he'd wanted to work for the government in the first place. His mother and father, he knew, were now able to interact with the public without being shunned. For himself, the bullying at work had stopped after the first few years. Small things like his things going missing inspired him to put out a bowl of free office supplies on his desk, saying that he'd hoped people could get what they needed from him all along. 

The rest of the time, he worked. Wasn't it he who had facilitated the recovery of Fiona Charles, the elite Quidditch player, through a carefully tested inversion of Skele-Gro? _That_ had kicked off his career and gotten him the team he had today. It certainly helped that Fiona had sung his praises to the Daily Prophet. And wasn’t it his team who had been responsible for other breakthroughs?… He took a breath. There was no need to justify himself to himself. 

Draco worked from Monday through Friday, saw his friends on Saturday and his parents on Sunday. He lived in a modern flat and walked to work. 

Harry Potter was only a small break in that routine; he'd arrived as a representative of the Ministry’s Department of Healing only to be reassigned temporarily as a consultant. His input was not always reassuring but usually helpful, which quickly raised Draco’s estimation of him. 

Despite the overall acceptable quality of his life, it was just the other day that Draco had come to the conclusion that it was romance that his life was lacking.

“Romance,” Draco had told his desk partner. “That’s what’s my life is lacking.” 

A Hogwarts graduate and Draco's junior by seven years, Griggs was mostly competent, but thoroughly boring. He was Draco's favorite. He found certain strains of mundaneness increasingly refreshing as he aged. 

Griggs paused and scrawled a line summarizing their efforts with rowan wood. “What do you mean?” 

“Gifts! Spontaneity. Letters of appreciation. Clothes,” Draco told Griggs. “Chocolate.” 

“Chocolate,” Griggs repeated. 

“Chocolate,” said another voice, quietly. 

Draco whirled to see Harry sitting at his desk, tapping his quill against his forehead. He was pretending to be deep in thought, while actually being an eavesdropping. Lazy busybody. “Potter! Are you listening in on a private conversation?” 

“We're in an open workplace,” Harry had said, a dip appearing on his cheek, his mouth creasing. 

Draco shot him a very suspicious look and turned back to his work, all thoughts of romance disappearing. 

It was only after that incident that Harry had begun asking him to come to the pub to work together. 

The first time, he caught Draco on his way out and asked if he wanted to get a pint and take another look at the report they were working on, and Draco replied that he worked enough hours outside of the office already, thank you. 

After a repeat of the same request a week later, Draco decided to nip this “would you like to have a pint” thing before it got any worse. It was odd, too, because Harry only seemed to display this overly interested behavior towards Draco, and no one else. Not that he was rude. Harry got on well with everyone on Draco’s team, which made sense, as his team was excellent. Draco resolved to suppress his instincts to be nice to Harry, to avoid having any future awkward conversations. 

Harry, unfortunately, made that difficult. 

“I’ve gotten you some quills.” 

“Thanks, you can set those in the bin.” Draco didn’t look at him for a solid three seconds, and when he did, he was surprised to find Harry looking at him already. 

“What?” Harry said, his mouth falling open stupidly. 

“I've got quite enough of my own, and we don't need charity from an outside benefactor.”

“Oh,” Harry said. His mouth closed into a strange shape, forcing Draco to look at him. Draco’s throat went dry. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. I didn’t realize…” 

Draco sighed and brandished his quill, turning away from Harry’s unfairly handsome face. “Finish that thought or don’t, but do you need to stand right here?” 

“I suppose,” Harry said, almost to himself. 

 

The next day, Harry tried a new angle. Draco noticed. 

“Would you like to work on the Time-Elapse Potion with me?” 

Draco sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “That’s your project. What do you need help with?”

“There’s a note about tapping the bezoar that I didn’t quite understand. And if you had an opinion on the result of our recent case, which I’m sure you’re aware of…” Harry chewed his lip, and Draco tried not to watch him do it. “I just thought…” 

Putting him out of his misery, Draco unfolded his arms and said, “I highly doubt that there’s something I could add when I haven’t been privy to the raw reports. As for the bezoars -- Why don’t you just --” And here he made a grab for the stack of papers that Harry was holding, enjoying the surprised noise that Harry made when he succeeded. 

Draco proceeded to skim the document. “That the bezoar remains in the form of a stone is its greatest detraction from its healing purposes -- in recent years -- tapping the bezoar properly results in relieving its form from its duty --” He was familiar with the broad ideas of the Time-Elapse Potion and its role in the Sebold case, but purely as a matter of interest. 

He took Harry’s hand. Because it was the most efficient way to explain: the pressure. Harry’s hand was warm and pliant. Draco took him through the motions as if in a dream or fever, acutely focused on the touch of skin on skin. 

“But you ought to start a new contract with my office if you want routine advice like this,” Draco added, hurriedly taking his hand back once he’d finished. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by freely offering his wits out for others’ credit. 

Harry’s face fell, and Draco’s hand felt empty. 

 

It was dark and cold outside now, and Draco was not looking forward to the walk home. He thought that he had sidestepped Harry’s usual offers, since it was a later hour than his usual, so he startled in his chair when he heard a knock on the door. He looked up to see Harry leaning against it with tall posture. 

“Everyone else has packed up,” Harry said. “What d’you have left? Can I help?” 

Draco was tired, and he felt his instincts stirring in him. Harry had a wrinkled line on his forehead, and his eyes looked clear. 

“Why are you asking me?”

Harry bit his lip. “You work so hard,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to do it alone.” 

Draco’s arm moved before he could stop himself, and he motioned to a chair. Harry seemed entirely too happy to sit. 

“It’s my own project,” he said, after a pause. “I haven’t talked to many people about it.” He left Harry to pick up the conversational thread or leave it, as he would. 

Harry chose to respond. “What project is it?” 

Draco shifted his sitting posture, deciding to answer. “I’d like to heal memories,” he said. 

Harry reacted with surprise. “Mind magic?”

“Healing Potions have a history of tending to bodies over minds. The more I read about the history of the field, the more I find it unacceptable.” 

Harry chewed his lip. “You said healing memories. Like taking them away? Wouldn’t that change a person?” 

“I’m not talking about forgetting,” Draco said impatiently. “But making it easier to heal. Look, I’ve been doing some reading on trauma that Gra-- that Hermione gave me. The brain is malleable, but its very innovations make it suggestible as well. If you’ve gotten accustomed to thinking, reacting to a stimulus in a certain way, it takes a lot of effort to break the habit. Do you follow? So while the essence of the trauma is the memory of the event itself, which shouldn’t be changed, it is processed by gobs of interconnected wirings, which can all be bent, or changed. Rewritten. Slowly. But if this potion becomes successful, it will help with that.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed, making him look less handsome. 

“Am I speaking in tongues?” Draco said. He hated this. He hadn’t felt anything but excited and confident when describing this to anyone else, and yet his voice had broken several times just now, and his stomach was quivering like a preadolescent on a first date.

“No!” Harry almost shouted. He looked like he might start shaking, and he said quickly, “I’m thinking about how brilliant your idea is. The war still affects -- lots of people. You know, there are injuries that people haven’t healed from.”

“Because we don’t know they exist,” Draco said, feeling strangely hot behind his eyes. He rubbed his cheek. 

Harry’s hands twitched, as if he wanted to do something. Draco watched him swallow. “Thanks for telling me.” 

“It’s nothing,” Draco muttered. “Might not even work.” 

Harry chuckled at that. “When your ideas fail, it seems like you remake them into something better.” 

Draco straightened his head. “Do you mean that?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You know, I understand now that you’re not interested in me, but I did mean everything I did, and said.” 

Draco felt his heart give a distinct thump. “What are you talking about?” 

“I mean--” 

And suddenly Draco understood many of Harry’s mysteries. Because Harry had leaned in, and their mouths were pressed together. Draco’s hand groped the air and took purchase of his desk for stability. His face burned. He felt wonderfully stupid as he gasped for air, Harry’s lips soft against his, heat radiating off him. As they broke and leaned back in to kiss again, Draco felt something settle within his chest that he hadn’t known was loose. 

 

Beyond all odds, Draco later found himself at a pub. 

“Of course I knew what you were doing,” Draco tried to backtrack. “Well, after the first weeks….” 

“Weeks?” Harry gaped. “I've been after you for months, since we first worked together.”

“Months?” Draco said. “You can't mean-- those times you admonished me by implying you thought we should do extra work together…”

“The emphasis was on the together,” Harry said wryly. 

Draco’s head was still swimming, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Perhaps I inferred a few things?” 

Harry smiled, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and Draco, reluctantly, joined in. “Another round?” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/71611.html) . ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised @ livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 9th.


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